On a flight to D.C., I was settling into my seat when the woman next to me made a call. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop—just looking for my headphones—when I heard her say my wife’s name: Ellen. Then she said something that made my blood run cold: “Did you send your husband off?”
“He’ll be in pieces.” The woman sounded cheerful. Almost excited. I couldn’t hear Ellen’s side of the call, but every word the stranger said felt like a puzzle I didn’t want to solve. Was it just coincidence? Was this about my Ellen? By the time we landed, I couldn’t shake the feeling something was terribly wrong. I cut my trip short and booked the next flight home. When I walked through the door, I didn’t find lies or betrayal.
